A little late, as usual. I'm working on being late for my own funeral.
Two poems, in fact, to celebrate two things. Burns Night, and my favourite place on earth, which, if there were any justice in the world, is where I would make my home.
O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast
O, wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did Misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a Paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o the globe,
Wi thee to reign, wi thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.
Dear Auld Scotland
Scotland my native land so fair
Thy hills an' mountains I adore,
Thy scenery is grand an' rare,
An' brings to min' the days of yore.
To gaze upon the sparkling fountains
An' see the waters flowing there
Then upon the lofty mountains,
Few kingdoms can with thee compare.
Where is the country you can name,
Can boast of such warriors brave,
Who fought to gain their country fame
From the cradle to the grave.
Such men as Wallace brave an' true,
An' Bruce the hero of Bannockburn,
Aye, an' the brave Black Douglas too,
For these auld Scotland oft did mourn.
Oh, Scotland fair. Land of the free,
Where we've got the Thistle so dear,
Likewise the Lily, the Hawthorn Tree,
An' the sparkling water so clear.
An' tho' I yet may be from home,
However far that it may be,
Thro' all the places that I roam,
Scotland will still be dear to me.